Vaccinating America against me and why Caster Semenya and I have more in common than you might at first think.

Yesterday I had my long-awaited, greatly-dreaded Visa-Medical (cue eerie and ominous music).

You might be thinking this is one of your run-of-the-mill medicals where you can waltz along to your GP (Trans. primary care giver), have your blood pressure taken and be declared healthy.

You would be wrong.

The US immigration Deity, in his/her infinite suspiciousness only trusts 2 Doctors Surgeries (Trans. not actually sure - practice? Place where primary-care-givers work. Yes I know it's weird to call them surgeries when there's no actual surgery taking place. Whatever.) in the whole of the U.K. to carry these health inspections out. In fact, these '2' surgeries are really just one in two locations. Does this smell a little monopoly-ish to you? And it was in Mayfair (trans. whatever the purple most-expensive square is on the monopoly board). Fishy.

The whole thing was so surreal I feel the need to recount it in detail. Bear with me.

So I woke up early, having rooted around in my suitcase-in-the-corner in a panic for my last very-expensive-US-specification-passport-photo, and made my way along to Bentinck Mansions, home of Knightsbridge Doctors. It was like walking into a stately home. I was ushered into the waiting room, whereupon my passport, happily-found photo, medical questionnaire and vaccination history were handed over. Then I sat nervously, went to the loo (trans. toilet) a few times more than necessary (I'm an anxious pee-er) and glanced at the other visa-victims waiting for their cavity search. (That's NOT an exaggeration. OK it's a slight exaggeration, but keep reading)

First stop was the nurse with the needles. She was actually pretty nice and commiserated with me at the pointlessness of my having to have the HPV vaccination (which were I just 9 months older would have been deemed unnecessary). That was until she told me that there were 3 instalments of this pointless exercise, each costing £120, to be had over the next 6 months. I swallowed hard and chanted 'Jeremy, Bookcase, Chair'.

I was also given a tetanus injection, which I have less of a problem with since it might actually come in handy next time I get bitten by a dog or stabbed by a cat with a rusty nail. I was less impressed by the £30 they charged me for it though as, had I done my homework, I could have got it for free on the NHS (trans. glorious system of free health care and happiness which isn't quite as glorious in reality but is a darn sight better than the American system). I didn't need any other vaccinations as thankfully I've been pretty well immunised by the wonderful NHS and I had chickenpox when I was 7 (yes, chickenpox is a required vaccine. Woe betide anyone who takes chickenpox to the USA).

After the needles I was ushered into a holding bay (that's what they called it, no joke) where I swapped visa stories with other suckers. Then I was escorted to the X-Ray Chamber where I had to take my top-half of clothing off (wearing a dress wasn't the best plan), put on a rather glamorous robe and press my chest up against a board while she whipped me with a cat-o-nine-tails. Oops, there I go exaggerating again. The rest is true. Honest.

I then had to return, wearing robe and carrying clothes, to the holding bay before being summoned by a rather manic doctor who quizzed me on my medical history (I just said 'no' a lot).

I promise I'm not exaggerating this next bit. Talk about the girl who cried wolf. This is true. Really.

The manic doctor, having interrogated me, then told me to go and lie down on the bed-covered-in-tissue-thing and then came over and, opening the robe , squeezed both of my boobs and took a peek down my knickers to "check I was a girl".

THAT REALLY HAPPENED.

While I'm still a little perplexed by the boob-squeezing, since as far as I'm aware that's not the technique for lump-checking, the needle nurse had warned me about the girl-checking bit. Apparently in the past a man attempted to pass as a woman. Maybe the boob-squeezing is to check they're real? Although if I was a man pretending to be a woman I'd get myself some more convincing boobs than mine. That on its own should have been enough to prove my female-ness.

So after molesting me (I'm not particularly disturbed by this by the way - no need for worried messages - I mostly find it amusing) she then listened to my heart (it was beating pretty fast at this point, probably not helped by the skinny latte I'd had beforehand, certainly not helped by the molestation) / breath sounds (breathing smoothly was also pretty difficult) and took my blood to be tested for HIV. No one who has HIV is permitted entry to the US. It's the only communicable disease that they expressly specify. You'd be in with a better chance if you had the Bubonic Plague. Thankfully I'm pretty certain I don't have it, so this shouldn't be a major hurdle for me, beyond the bruise from the blood test on my inner right elbow. I'm just incredulous that it's the only thing they specifically say will prevent US entry.

I then gathered myself and reclothed and proceeded to the waiting room to pay £340 (about $560) for the privilege of the whole ordeal.

So there you have it. Finally something has actually happened to push me along the road towards Jeremy and Bookcases. I didn't expect female verification to be a part of it, but that just makes the story all the more tellable, and while I'm a bit miffed about paying out hundreds for pointless vaccines, if that's what it takes to convince America that I'm not going to become a burden to their (private) health care system or infect their citizens then so be it.